Spoken Words
by bellerophon
Summary: Jeff Hardy's thoughts about Matt Hardy and what people don't see.


TITLE: Silent *R* (1/1)

SERIES: Spoken Words

AUTHOR: Bellerophon

EMAIL: bellerophon_666@hotmail.com

CATEGORY: WWE

DISTRIBUTION: If you want it, just let me know.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters, just borrowed them. 

RATING: R

SUMMARY: Jeff Hardy's thoughts about Matt Hardy and what people don't see. Part one in a three part series.

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SILENT

People ask me why you did it, why you turned on me.

I never say anything, just like we agreed. Well, like you told me not to. 'A fresh start,' you said, 'a chance to be individuals instead of this entity, this overgrown monster all the time'. You convinced me not to say anything. And maybe you thought you had me convinced that it was for the best. Maybe you didn't care whether you did or not. 

You never did care much about anything.

The scars are where no one can see them. They criss-cross your upper legs, your thighs, and only Lita and I ever see them running ragged across your delicate skin. Trust you to keep your common sense even while slowly destroying yourself. They're only little white, thin lines, and maybe when you first started, they were hard to see. Now there are too many to miss. Too many times you've felt the need to feel physical pain instead of emotional pain. Too many times I haven't been able to protect you, haven't been strong enough to stop you. 

Not like that matters to you. You never asked for my help. You never asked me for anything. You just slipped through the years quietly pushing yourself down this path. You never wanted anyone to think about you and your problems. I always thought you were just a private person. I never thought it was because you might have something to hide. But you did hide something, and now I'm hiding it too. You ask me for one thing, and it's the one thing I wish I didn't have to do. I hope you know I would do anything for you. Sometimes I think you don't really care at all.

As long as I stay silent, right? As long as I don't tell anyone about...what you do. I should be able to say it, shouldn't I? You do it often enough that I should recognise it. Recognise what you do and why you do it. Christ, you even tell me why sometimes.

Once when I found you curled up on the bathroom floor of some ratty hotel we were staying in, during the Omega years, I held you and tried to wish away reality. You spoke slowly and quietly as the cold seeped through my skin. 

'Don't be scared, Jeffy. Don't worry about me, not ever. It doesn't hurt, and I'm okay. I'm always okay. I just need this sometimes, just to keep myself here. It doesn't hurt me. Just sometimes, I need to get it out. I need it sometimes. I'm not trying to hurt myself, Jeff. Don't cry for me.'

So like you to ask me not to think about your safety. You always looked out for me, tried to protect me from everything. Just like an older brother should, you said. I wondered why you never needed someone to protect you for so long. I thought that I was just weak and that you were the strongest person in the world. But I was wrong. You did need someone to protect you, you did need someone to worry about you. You're not the strongest person in the world. Only I didn't realise that until you were hurting so bad that I wasn't enough to keep you safe. I guess I am just weak.

It's just that you always strain for control in every situation. I was always willing to give in to you, willing to let you deal with the problems and lean on you when I need to. Except for those rare times when you shut yourself off from me, you could always be depended on for help and a shoulder to cry on.

It's so hard, so horrible watching you hurt yourself, and in turn, hurt the people around you. I can't stand Lita's eyes when you blow her off sometimes. She's got beautiful eyes, just like you, and we both know I'm a fool for pretty things. Her eyes shine and sparkle just before she cries. It hurts to look at them and see how much she loves you. God, how she loves you.

Just like me, she's silent for you. Watches helplessly beside me when you cry for hours on hotel balconies, all alone in the melancholy night. We watch together as something hurts you so bad that you can't speak. We watch together when you pretend to be okay.

Used to be that Lita would tell you to get help, to speak to a professional. She used to tell you that she'd leave if you didn't do something. She tried so hard for so long to make you get better, believing that what's wrong with you is something that can be fixed. Hell, she even got me to challenge you last year. 

We gave you the ultimatum: do something about your…problem, or we'd quit wrestling. We worked up the strength and bravery to tell you that to your face, to your stricken, shocked, betrayed face. We just wanted to help you and you thought we trying to destroy you. You thought we were your enemies and you broke away. That whole fiasco became a nightmare to me. I couldn't watch over you, I couldn't look after you, I couldn't reassure myself that even though my big brother routinely used razors for the wrong reason, he was as safe as I could make him be.

After the fight with Taker, Lita and I stayed at her house and tried not to think about you, alone, travelling around the country. We watched WWF television desperately, trying to get any glimpse we could of whether you were okay. You may have thought we were your enemies, but we never stopped loving you. How could we?

And then you challenged Taker. And he put you in hospital. I hate to admit it, I despise myself for this, but when I heard that, I was happy. I thought that finally someone else would see what you do and pick up some of the burden that Lita and I carry. I thought they'd help you. I was wrong. 

They released you from hospital and never said a thing about the scars. I know they would've seen them. I'm sure they knew what you do. But they let you go and you never got the help you need.

You came to us afterwards, throat still bandaged and voice still hoarse. You asked for us to be a team again. And again we were too weak to stand up to you and try to do something for your own good. We were greedy and wanted you close again. We were desperate for you to be with us again. Sad that you have your addiction and we have ours. None of us can seem to get past our addictions. You need to bleed to feel, and we need you close by to feel whole.

Do you know why I haven't said anything? Do you really? I have two reasons. The first one is the one you know about. You're my brother and I adore you. I could never do anything without wanting your approval. You were who I looked up to throughout childhood and my teen years. You were so solid, funny, popular. You were everything I wanted to be. And now I can't do anything but watch you do this to yourself. Every morning I wake up and wish with everything that I have that today would be the day you stop. That magically you'd get better. But you don't, and I don't do anything, because of who you are. 

But the second reason, well, I doubt you have any clue about that. Did you know I remember Mom? I was only young when she died but I remember her. I remember her laugh, I remember the songs she used to sing, I remember the way she used just come and give us hugs for no reason and we'd squirm in her arms. I remember how much she loved winter and the sound of storms in the sky. She loved the thrill of thunder rumbling and shaking our house. But most of all, I remember her eyes. Do you know why? Matt, you have Mom's eyes. 

People used to tell me that I looked like her and I acted like her. She was thin and tall and care free. But you have the same brooding, dark, happy, shining eyes that I see when I think of her. And no matter how hard I try to work up the courage to make you get help, I look into those eyes and I falter. I can't find my way. That's the paradox that is you. You make me feel brave when you're by my side, you make me terrified when you are gone. You want to protect me, but you won't protect yourself. I love your eyes. I hate your eyes. They symbolise everything that is wrong with you. They symbolise everything that is good about you. 

How can I save you when I can never understand you?

I was once asked to describe you for some stupid article or interview. I looked at you, smiled, and said, 'Matt is the strongest, bravest, best brother I could ever ask for.' All the while, in my head I was screaming, 'Please don't believe me, someone please look at Matt and actually see him, just once. He isn't fine, he isn't perfect. He needs someone, he needs someone better than me. He needs help and he won't ask for it. Someone, please just help him.'

But then no one would believe that Matt Hardy is the insane Hardy, not me. I don't want to even think of him that way, I don't believe he is crazy. I don't believe he belongs in a mental hospital with restraints, a straight-jacket and a rubber room. But something is wrong in Matt. Something is broken. I don't know if anything will ever help Matt to stop hurting. Kind of like the nursery rhyme about Humpty Dumpty, just switch the names around.

'Matt Hardy sat on a wall, Matt Hardy had a great fall, All the King's horses and all the king's men couldn't put Matt back together again.'

Matt was raised so high, he was the eldest and best. He had the fantastic grades and all the teachers, students, girls, our parents, they all loved him. He was the epitome of possibility, he could've done anything. Somewhere along the way, all that began to count for nothing, and Matt fell off his wall. He fell fast and he fell hard and when he landed, he didn't shatter. No one even saw him fall, just like no one ever sees him when he hurts, but he did fall, it did happen. He didn't crack on the outside, he didn't need all the King's horses and all the King's men to put him back together. Because he was fractured and splintered where he wouldn't let people see, he was cracked on the inside.

I don't know when it happened. I don't know why it happened. But it did. And now my beautiful, strong, brave big brother needs to cut his skin, watch his blood well up and hurt himself to stay sane. And sometimes I wish I could understand why you do it, I wish I could take all the pain that tears you up inside, I wish I could save you from yourself…I wish I could do a lot of things.

People ask me why you did it, why you turned on me.

I could tell them all different reasons, every time someone asked. I could tell them that you needed space. I could tell them that it was time for us to go our separate ways. I could tell them all the things that you told me about needing to be your own person. All the bullshit that you fed me, I should give straight to them.

But none of those reasons are what I should tell someone.

I *should* tell them that I don't really know why you did it. I don't know what you were thinking, just like I never do. 

I should tell them that you're a danger to yourself. That you cut yourself on the outside to keep from hurting on the inside.

I should tell them that I'm terrified of finding you lying pale and motionless in a pool of your own blood. I'm petrified of losing you to whatever it is that burns your soul and keeps you from feeling happy or normal.

I should tell them to save you, something you desperately need and deserve. Something I can't do. Something I never could.

I won't. I won't because you asked me not to and I love you too much to refuse you anything anymore. I'll keep my mouth shut. For you, Matty, all for you, my precious, silent, dark brother.

And in the end, it will be my silence that will kill you.

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End file.
